Thrive
by SinginPrincess
Summary: After weeks without communication, worry gets the best of Sergeant Olivia Benson, and so she sets off in search for her friend, Emma Swan. This leads her to Storybrooke, Maine.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Okay so let's say this takes place after they've defeated Zelena and Storybrooke is kind of dealing with the aftermath (no time travel stuff) and Emma has yet to return to New York. As for the SVU timeline, it's some time after Beast's Obsession... So umm... basically it's an Emma/Olivia brotp and an Olivia/Regina OTP. But I'm still dubbing it Fearless Swan Queen, because why not. Unedited so I apologize for any mistakes.

* * *

_"Hey! This is Emma -"_

_"And Henry! I live here too you know!"_

_She laughs as she continues "Swan. And yeah, the kid lives here too. Anyways, obviously we're not here right now. We're probably doing something more important than sitting by the phone waiting for a call. So yeah, leave a message at the annoying beeping sound and we'll get back to you... if you're lucky."_

_Henry's laughter is heard in the background followed by an incredulous "what?!" from his mother before it cuts off with a loud beep._

"It's me, again. I've probably left you about a hundred messages by now. I can't seem to get through to your cell, either. Did you change your number? Where are you? I haven't heard from you in weeks... I'm getting worried." She sighs, running her fingers through her short brown hair, "I don't think I did anything for you to ignore me. Unless you're angry with me about perjuring myself, I'd explain if you let me... but you stopped answering before that so I just... It's not Henry is it? Is he alright? Are you? Can you -"

The line cuts off then. It's not the first time. Messages are supposed to be short and simple. But when you've called as many times as she has, and to no avail, the words just tend to pour without filter. God knows how many of her cut off messages have been saved in that machine by now.

She hangs up and sets the phone aside with a frustrated sigh. She really needs to talk to someone right now. Someone she could trust, but of course there was no one left, not outside the precinct. Emma was the only real friend she had left. And she really, really does not want to talk to Dr. Lindstrom right now. She just needs a friend. And more importantly, she needs to know why she hasn't heard from the blonde in such a long time, it just isn't like her to disappear. Could she really have tired of her so suddenly?

She thinks, not for the first time, that perhaps the drama with Lewis had managed to ruin yet another aspect of her life, but there's a nagging feeling that tells her that no, Emma wouldn't do that. She and Emma understood each other, they were alike in many ways. Despite her tendency to run, she wouldn't just leave without a word. Not unless something had gone terribly wrong.

She purses her lips in thought, staring at the bookcase across the room. She sees the book, the one with stories and photos that Henry had made her for her birthday. It was such a surprise at the time, she hadn't ever mentioned her birthday to Emma. She always hated her birthday, there were very few good memories related to that day of the year. And yet... somehow the blonde had figured it out. Of course, it shouldn't have surprised her, Emma was excellent at her job, she would have made quite the detective if her life had taken her down that path.

She makes her way over to the bookcase, picks up the book and returns to her place on the sofa. As she looks through the pages for the umpteenth time since she first received it, she can't help but smile.

It's as she's looking at the silly picture - selfie, as Henry calls it - of the three of them, cheeks pressed up against one another, laughing for reasons she can't recall, that she decides that she needs to do more than call. She needs to do more than wait for a response. Something has to be wrong for her to have left without a word. She sets the book down, grabs her coat, puts on her boots and walks out the door.

* * *

After some manipulation and authoritative demands - okay, yes, she used her badge - the building manager finally used his key to let the Sergeant into the Swan residence. She did try the traditional method of knocking on the apartment door and even calling her phone, but as expected, she received no response, and there was no way she was giving up, she had to know. So now here she stands, in the foyer of her friend's home. She searches the rooms quickly, hoping that she might just find her friend asleep, hoping the blonde had simply been ignoring her all these weeks.

Of course, the quick sweep of the house does nothing to ease her worry, instead she notes the layer of dust on the counters, the untouched dishes in the sink, which had obviously been there a while, and finally, clothes and other belongings thrown haphazardly about Emma's room. Her closet is wide open, her bed made but with clothing thrown carelessly atop it. The mess is nothing to be too concerned about, however, it's quite simply... well, Emma. Though it is quite obvious that no one had set foot within the apartment in quite some time.

She continues to look around, keeping her eyes pealed for any clue as to where she'd gone. There's nothing in her room though, nor Henry's. Just mess and dust and quiet. She heads back to the kitchen then, opening the fridge only solidifies her earlier assessment, most of the food within it is rotten now. She scrunches her nose in disgust and closes it. That's when she sees the notes held up against its surface by varying magnets. Most of them are quite normal of course; reminders to buy milk (a few too many, some bold and underlined with several exclamation points), doctor's appointments, and reminders for Henry's upcoming trip. She continues to look through them, unable to stop the laugh that escapes when she catches one that reads "MOOOOM! DON'T FORGET THE M-I-L-K OR I'LL STOP GROWING AND HAVE 2 DROP OUT OF SKL!"

She plucks it off the fridge and shakes her head, "God, Emma, you're worse than I am." She's about to put it back where it was when she notices a crumpled paper just below where it belonged. Something about it attracts her and she reaches for it. She straightens it out as much as she can, unintentionally dropping Henry's note as she does so. She doesn't bother pick it up, though, but rather chooses to examine this note instead. There isn't much on it, just the word "storybrooke", but something tells her it's precisely what she's looking for.

* * *

It took a few days and about a dozen dead ends, but at last, she had made progress. She was about ninety percent certain she knew where Emma had gone. Storybrooke wasn't much of a lead, it was incredibly frustrating, the databases at work were useless, as were her contacts, but Emma's apartment, well, after her fourth visit - inspection, really - she had finally found what she needed. And now here she is, driving down an endless road in the middle of nowhere in Maine.

It was nowhere to be found on a map or the internet, but Emma's notes - fragmented and confusing as they were - led her to believe that this was where she needed to be. It turns out Storybrooke is a town, or at least that's the conclusion she'd come to during her investigation. Problem is, there was practically no proof and she's mostly going with her gut instinct. But she has the time, a few weeks, really, so she figures it's an instinct worth following.

When her radio turns on unexpectedly, flipping through stations at random, and she begins to lose control of her vehicle, however, she begins to question if it was a bad idea. Leaving state alone to the middle of nowhere without telling anyone where she was headed (not that anyone would care, she had no family, her "friends" were alright but none of them treated her the way they used to, they all look at her with either pity or distrust now and it has been getting on her nerves) almost seems reckless now.

She tries to regain control, tries to stop the car but nothing seems to work. She grips the wheel tight, her knuckles visibly white and she curses and she tries and tries but she can't reclaim control. And then suddenly it stops. Everything stops. And all she feels is her heart pounding so hard and so fast she thinks it might pop right out of her chest. It doesn't though, obviously. She closes her eyes tightly, her grip on the wheel never loosening and she tries to catch her breath, tries to calm the nerves and push away the fear.

After what feels like a lifetime, her heart rate calms down, it's still a little faster than normal, the adrenaline still quite present, but she's not so afraid anymore. She opens her eyes, lets out a deep breath and slowly releases her hold on the steering wheel. She looks down at her own body, checking for any visible damage but she sees none. She breathes again, it's long and deep and it aids in alleviating the pressure she feels on her heart.

She closes her eyes once more and thanks whatever the hell is out there, if anything at all, for her survival. She doesn't have a whole lot of faith these days, never really has, but there are moments like these where she wonders, and she can't help but silently thank whatever. Destiny, the skies, herself, whatever it is that has her survive time after time. She moves her right hand up to her neck, only feeling true comfort when her fingers wrap around the pendant she wears.

_Fearlessness._

Perhaps it's silly, but that word, this necklace, it's her most valued possession. Even though its not the one she'd had for years, this newer one still holds the same power. It's managed to get her through quite a lot and it's presence is enough to anchor her, to remind her that fear is merely a distraction, something to fight, not run from.

She opens her eyes again, this time making a point of looking beyond herself and the confines of her car. She looks out the windshield to see the same endless road lined by an equally endless forest. But this time it's different, this time she smiles, because among those trees is an old sign, one that reads "Welcome to Storybrooke" and it is such an incredible relief that she almost wants to cry. Almost.

Instead she fights the weakness, fights the uselessness of tears and focuses on the good; she was right, Storybrooke was real, and she had found it. And soon, she would find Emma and find out what the hell had brought her out here and why she hadn't bothered to call.

She turns the key in the ignition, ready to continue her journey, but of course, it doesn't work. The engine sputters and makes a few sounds but the car won't start. She tries a few times more before she gives up with a frustrated huff and a hand that slams forward, honking the horn in the process.

She gets out of her car, pops open the front and checks the engine. Of course, her knowledge of cars isn't the greatest and she ends up slamming it shut once more. She pulls out her phone to call for help, but her day really, truly, has become quite the lucky one. There's no cell service. Not even a single bar. She tries walking around, holding it up in different directions, but nothing. She sighs and returns it to her pocket.

It's not long after that she decides to walk the rest of the way, or at least until she finds somewhere she can make a call, maybe rest a little. Okay, it's not really much of a decision, there isn't exactly another option. She definitely has no desire to sit and wait in the hopes that someone will show up and save the day. The fact that she's in the middle of nowhere isn't even the main reason, she just really doesn't need to be saved, she's never fit the role of damsel in distress well. Even in times where she had been, no one would save her but herself, and only because she knew she had a purpose; people to protect, voices to return. She's not so sure about her purpose anymore, but she's certainly not stupid enough to wait around for someone to tell her.

* * *

She's been walking for what feels like days now (she hasn't, she knows, but it certainly feels it), but at last she's found some form of civilization. It's not a large town, not that she was expecting it to be.

She makes her way towards the diner as soon as she spots it. It just seems like the best option. Hopefully they have a phone (her cell still can't catch a signal), and she would be able to ask if anyone had seen Emma, and, well, she wouldn't be opposed to a cup of coffee.

The abrupt quiet is hard to miss upon entering the establishment, the number of wide and curious eyes upon her even harder to ignore. She smiles lightly, however, attempting to alleviate the strange tension in the atmosphere. She averts her eyes quickly enough after the attempt, focusing instead on the elderly lady behind the counter. She orders a cup of coffee, sits on the only unoccupied stool and sets her bag down in front of her. The quiet is slowly replaced by a hum of voices. They're whispering, most likely about the stranger that just walked in. Most likely is an understatement really, it's blatantly clear that they are indeed talking about her, but she does her best to ignore it. It's not like she hadn't been subjected to this treatment before, the media coverage after Lewis was extensive and the damage seeped into every crevice of her life.

"There you go," the older woman says as she places a mug of coffee on the counter before her, "can I get you anything else?"

"Thanks." And this time when she smiles, it's less awkward and more genuine. "This'll be fine for now."

The older woman narrows her eyes, studying her briefly before she nods and tries to start up a conversation. Well, pry is a better fit for what she asks, "What brings you to Storybrooke?"

She doesn't hesitate to answer, she had fully expected the question, especially after the... welcome she'd received upon entering.

"I'm looking for someone," she answers, lifting the coffee to her lips, she takes a sip, hums in approval, and then continues, "perhaps you might know where I can find her."

The woman smiles at her and she can feel the eyes staring from behind her, the whispering continues but it's even quieter than before and she resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"Her name is Emma, Emma Swan."

The recognition is instant. Olivia sees it in the other woman's eyes, the way they widen just a little before she quickly regains control over them and narrows them in suspicion.

"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was, Miss...?"

"I didn't. Sorry." She sets the mug down and extends her arm offering the woman her hand, "Olivia Benson."

The older woman stares down at her extended hand before finally reaching out herself. They shake hands briefly and she smiles, although the suspicion remains. "Everyone here calls me Granny," she offers.

A moment of silence passes between them, only interrupted by a sound from behind, a door, she supposes, and the clicking of heels, but she doesn't look away from the older woman.

"What is it you want with Emma Swan?" she asks finally, a little louder than necessary.

Olivia doesn't miss the warning within the woman's eyes and she most certainly doesn't miss the fact that she's no longer looking at her, but rather somewhere past her.

She doesn't answer, simply studies the woman's face, a face which is so clearly conversing silently with a third party.

"Well?" the question is delivered with a hint of impatience but it most certainly did not come from the elder woman before her, it came from a rich voice behind her. And so she turns, slowly, at last and she finds herself looking at an elegantly dressed dark brunette with bright red lipstick.

"Go on, dear, answer the question." She smiles, and it's the type of smile she is all too familiar. Fake. So very, very fake. A little cold and warning, too. Defensive. Practiced.

She parts her lips to respond, not to answer, but rather turn the interrogation on its head, when the shuffling of feet is heard before an all too familiar voice makes its presence known.

She turns just in time to see the young boy's bright smile as he gleefully calls out "Aunt Liv!" before running towards her and wrapping his arms around her.

She's a little surprised to see him, but also incredibly relieved and she simply can't stop the grin that spreads across her face when he hugs her. She chuckles lightly and responds with a light, "It's good to see you too," as she ruffles his hair before returning the embrace.

"What are you doing here?" he asks curiously as they part from one another's arms.

Him she answers without a second thought. She's known him for less than a year, but she'd grown to love him within a few weeks of meeting him. "I was worried about you and your mom so I came looking."

"Oh, she didn't tell you we were leaving, did she?" She gives him a tight lipped smile and he shakes his head in acknowledgment. "Sorry, this whole trip was really sudden."

"That's okay, I'm glad to see you're okay."

"Yeah," he tilts his head slightly to the side, "but how did you find us? How did you-"

"That," the dark brunette cuts him off, settling her hand on his shoulder protectively as she pulls him toward her, "is a very good question."

* * *

**A/N:** So... this was only going to be a short thing to get it out of my system... it sort of took a life of its own though... I've decided to continue with it and see where it goes but just know it's most likely going to be Regina/Olivia endgame. Reviews would be appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait, updates for this fic will probably be relatively slow… The response to the first chapter absolutely blew me away, I'm really glad you're enjoying it so far! Anyways, here we have it, Olivia, Regina, Henry, and Emma all in one room… er diner. Enjoy! And let me know what you think!_

_Warning that Lewis is mentioned in this chapter but only briefly and no details are given, just thought I'd give you the heads up._

* * *

There's a long, drawn out silence that encompasses the entire diner for the next few moments. It could be minutes or hours, hell, it could even just be a mere few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Chocolate eyes lock onto one another, ignoring all else and the only sound in the entire establishment right now is the familiar hum of the diner's machinery — or whatever, diner stuff, it doesn't really matter, fact is, it's eerily quiet.

There's a challenge in the other woman's eyes and finally, feeling the weight of the tension and the eyes of observers boring into the three of them, she shifts her gaze. She's not losing the challenge, though, she's assessing the situation. And the other woman seems to be doing the same now, though her gaze is more alarmed, protective, dangerous than the sergeant's and that in itself provides her with some insight into the brunette stranger. She doesn't miss the way the other woman's arm is draped across Henry's shoulders, nor the fact that he is not at all uncomfortable with the gesture. In fact he seems at ease, as if the gesture is the most natural thing. And the thing is, she has no idea who this woman is or why she's so protective over the boy or why he is so unbelievably comfortable with the woman whose eyes are so cold and dangerous as they take her in.

Finally, she decides it's time to break the silence, "and who exactly are you?"

"I do believe you were asked a question first, dear." she drawls, and her tone is so judgmental that the sergeant has to fight to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Rich, privileged, judgmental, cold, and yet… protective, and judging by the way she holds the boy… loving. It's an odd combination, mystifying and incredible and quite discomfiting.

"If it's all the same to you, mam, I find it's best to know who I'm talking to before giving them any kind of information. So again, I ask, who are you?"

"Regina Mills," she concedes, though she doesn't offer her hand, instead she lifts her head, looking regal and haughty as hell, as though everyone, especially Olivia, is beneath her. "I'm the mayor of this town." Well, that explains the clothes and the authoritative air. "And as such, I have the right to know what you're doing here and what you want with Emma and Henry because that little embrace you just shared, I find it highly inappropriate coming from a stranger."

The implied accusation does exactly what it was likely intended to do, it astounds and infuriates the sergeant, making her want to shout at the woman for her audacity, or, even more satisfyingly, hit her. But there are eyes on them still, and she's the one standing in unfamiliar territory, she's the one who nearly lost her shield over her last transgression. So she grits her teeth and counts to five internally, refusing to provide this woman — Regina Mills — with the reaction she hoped to elicit. She lifts the corner of her jacket then, revealing her badge as she introduces herself, because if this woman is going to play the power card, well then, that's a game that she can play, too. "Sergeant Olivia Benson." She smirks, noticing the slight twitch of the woman's eyes and lips, she masks her features well and quite quickly, but Olivia doesn't miss the fact that she does indeed have some form of affect on the mayor. "Of the special victims unit."

Regina tilts her head to the side ever so slightly, pursing her lips, the question clear on her lips.

"Sex crimes," the sergeant clarifies.

The mayor nods in understanding at first but then her face drops and she turns her gaze to the boy next to her and asks, the worry evident in her tone "Henry…" She brings her hand up and caresses his cheek with her thumb as she whispers, "did… did something happen in New York?"

The boy's eyes grow wide and he parts his lips to respond but nothing comes out, he's shocked silent. Luckily, Olivia catches on quite quickly and rushes to clarify further. "Oh, no. No, this isn't about Henry, that's not how we know each other. Nothing like that. No need to be concerned, Regina." It's the first time she uses the woman's name and she has to admit she doesn't hate the reaction she gets. It's an odd one, half relief and half surprise but as quickly and gracefully as everything else this woman seems to do, she recovers, straightening her back and returning attention to her with a mask of indifference. Strange, how quick she is to hide her emotions. It's a coping mechanism she has seen far too many times and she can't help but wonder what happened to this woman for her to feel the need to act so cold and unimpressed most of the time.

"Then what, may I ask, are you doing here?"

"And how?" Henry interjects. Regina gives him a quick disapproving glance and he bites his lower lip before looking down dejectedly. _Odd_.

She ignores the 'how' because what exactly was that supposed to mean anyway? She got here the same way most people get anywhere, by vehicle. And if he meant it because he and Emma hadn't told anyone well then, even he knows she's been a cop for nearly two decades. "I'm here to see Emma Swan, and forgive me mam, but mayor or not, it's really none of your business. Now do you know where I might find her or are you just trying to make things more difficult than necessary?"

The mayor's lips turn into a practiced grin before she bunches up her fist and lifts it, she's not going to hit her, it's an act of frustration, that much is clear. She then takes a step towards the sergeant but before she can say anything, Henry's hand wraps around her arm and he tugs ever so gently as he says "mom, please."

Both women turn to look at him then, and Olivia doesn't know what the mayor's expression looks like at the moment because she's too busy staring at him in shock, trying to determine whether or not she heard him correctly. She did, as it turns, because he says it once more, though she's too shocked and confused to pay attention to whatever else he says. All she knows is he's talking and, as she finally opts to return her gaze to the mayor, she knows that the other woman is listening intently. Her features soften once more and she nods ever so slightly as she whispers something back to him and gently pats his cheek. A brilliant, genuine smile graces the mayor's lips, white sparkling teeth revealed under parted lips and it's quite a stunning sight.

It's only when Regina turns to look at her that she manages to escape her stupor. The smile slowly leaves the mayor as she straightens her posture and clears her throat. "Well then, I do believe Henry has a point, perhaps it would be best we continue this _civil_ conversation without all the curious meddlers." She shoots a glare to some of the patrons who were all too clearly eavesdropping before gesturing towards an empty booth. "Join us for lunch and perhaps we can answer one another's questions without the audience."

She glances around the diner, first to the many strangers who seem to be waiting with baited breath for her reply, then to the intriguing mayor — Henry's _mom?_ — then down to the sweet young boy. For his part, Henry shoots her a sheepish, yet somehow reassuring smile and he casts such a show of innocence that she can't help the smile that tugs at her lips.

"Alright," she concedes with a sigh, her eyes still locked on Henry's, making a silent promise to the boy. She then looks back to Regina and nods, "that sounds good to me." She pats Henry on the back and he grins up at her but Regina doesn't appear to appreciate the gesture. It's quite clear that she is not at all pleased with the familiarity the two share, though why the mayor has yet to question the fact that he addresses Olivia as his aunt is beyond her.

They're about to sit at the table when the mayor places a hand on the boy's shoulder and proceeds to guide him silently to sit next to her instead. No, this would not be a comfortable lunch at all, this woman was more than the average challenge, she was an enigma, a puzzle that Olivia had every intention to solve. As long as it might take and as challenging as it would be, she would rise from this interaction the victor.

* * *

They're sitting in a booth in the diner now, have been for a while. Henry's munching on some fries and slurping up a milkshake while the two women each cradle a cup of coffee between their hands, rarely removing their eyes from one another. It's some sort of twisted staring game where occasionally they ask each other questions and answer simply and without detail. From time to time Henry makes a comment to ease the tension and though neither woman would ever admit it, they're glad for his interruptions.

Olivia has answered all sorts of questions from where she was from to what her beverage of choice was (and that one was odd, even though they're in a diner) to how she knew Emma and Henry. Her answers are brief and reveal very little because there really is no trust between the two, they're all truths, of course, but they barely answer the questions given. The question of her status of aunt never comes up, however. There's a chance the mayor had missed the title upon Henry's excitement, of course, but the way the woman seems to analyze every little detail makes her doubt that as a possibility.

Regina, for her part, has also answered a few questions but since the mayor never asked her about Henry's title for her, she never asked about the mom thing. Because really, what the hell? Part of her doesn't even want to know, especially since neither Emma nor Henry have ever mentioned this woman and she'd be damned if she'd take Regina's word for it. No, that was a question for Emma, absent the presence of the ever fascinating mayor.

"And how do I know that the moment Miss Swan gets here you won't be arresting her?" the woman drawls after taking a sip of her coffee, dark eyes staring at the sergeant from above the rim of her steaming mug.

"You don't." She shrugs, taking a sip of her own coffee before nodding over to Henry, "but he does. And if you know anything about Henry Swan," the mayor visibly flinches at the full name and he himself squirms just a little so she files that information away to dissect later, "you know he doesn't trust just anyone. He's a smart kid. If he trusts me, and he does," he smiles brightly, nodding in confirmation, "then that should be reason enough for you, too."

The brunette narrows her eyes and silently studies the sergeant for a moment, allowing the woman's words to sink in. She's considering the logic, and it almost seems like it's enough. Henry, however, doesn't seem quite sure so he takes the opportunity to intervene once again. He wipes his hands with a napkin before placing a hand on Regina's shoulder and leaning closer. He speaks softly and though Olivia can't hear it all she's quite certain she hears him say "please", again calling her mom and something about a good person and a hero and he's comparing her to someone else.

She's tempted to lean in closer, wishing to hear all that this all too persuasive young man is saying to the stoic mayor. She doesn't, of course, knowing all too well how bad a move that would be. Trust, that was something she needed from this woman, if only temporarily, and eavesdropping would most definitely not be the way to go about getting that trust. So instead she waits, focusing a little too much on the coffee in front of her, taking long slow sips of the lukewarm liquid. It's quite irritating how quick it is for coffee to lose it's warmth, though luckily in a diner such as this, with its nosy waitresses, the cups get refilled quite quickly and often.

She's about to contemplate calling the waitress back to order something when she feels a light kick to her leg, she focuses her attention in front of her, the guilty yet proud smile makes the culprit quite clear. Henry gestures in what she assumes is meant to be a subtle form (he fails dramatically if that's his intention) towards the mayor and before she can question it, she realizes precisely why he seems so victorious. Regina Mills, mayor of Storybrooke, pulls out her cellphone and places a call. It isn't really necessary, since she knows by the excitement the boy exudes, but the confirmation as to whom she is calling is made as soon as the mayor lets out a deep, clipped "Miss Swan."

She sighs exaggeratedly and corrects herself after a brief moment, surly the blonde disapproved of the formality, "_Emma_… Come down to the diner, you have a visitor."

A pause and then, "I'm not your secretary, dear. Come see for yourself."

Another pause and a teasing "No."

She smirks through the next pause and then "If you'd rather not then that's fine, dear. But then you'll never know." She lifts her mug up to her lips, clearly in an effort to hide the smirk turned smile and takes a sip through the next pause.

"Fine." she says, all traces of that smile gone as she sets the mug back down on the table. She nods, despite the fact that the blonde cannot see her, and then "That would be acceptable, yes." She then hangs up and puts her phone away, smiling once more, and this time it's almost viciously, except it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Olivia tilts her head to the side, once again perplexed by the woman and her unique little quirks. Like, you know, that smile that seems to illustrate far too many conflicting meanings.

"Ten minutes." That's all the mayor says to the sergeant but the context is clear, Emma would be arriving soon, and thank goodness for that.

So Olivia simply nods in return and sends the woman a half-hearted smile and a clipped "great."

* * *

The blonde marches into the diner some fifteen (not ten, of course, the woman doesn't have the best record when it comes to punctuality) minutes later. She pays no mind to the other patrons in the diner and instead practically yells at the brunette in her annoyance, marching straight up to her table when she spots her next to Henry. She doesn't even register the third party facing away from her as she approaches.

"What was with the cryptic phone call, Regina? You could have just told me—" she's managed to walk up to the table and now she sees the woman seated opposite the queen and her eyes go wide as she stops mid rant. The most enchanting smile brightens her face then and she exclaims the sergeant's name (well, her nickname, 'Liv').

Olivia's own face brightens, too as she rises from her seat just in time to be engulfed by a hug from the blonde. "What the hell are you doing here?" Emma asks, though her tone is playful. Olivia chuckles before replying, "I could ask you the same thing. I haven't heard from you in weeks." She doesn't say it, but the implication that she was worried, which is only amplified by the fact that she's here in this town now, is quite clear.

They loosen their embrace, opting to hold onto one another's forearms so that they're still connected but can now see each other. "Don't you have a unit to run or something?"

Olivia attempts to chuckle once more but she half chokes on it and it's really, obviously faked. But at least now she knows she's not mad at her, though she still doesn't know what the Swans are doing here. She attempts to keep the mood light, shooting back with a teasing, "I guess somebody hasn't been watching the news lately, then."

The blonde tilts her head, completely befuddled and Olivia shakes her head lightly, pushing away the pain that rises up at the memory and adds, "I'm on leave until further notice."

Emma's eyes widen as she soaks in the words and drops her expression into concern, not pity. She leans back in for another hug, when really she does it so that no one can hear what she says next. "Lewis" she whispers, and it's more of a realization than a question but Olivia replies all the same.

"Dead." And she says it so quietly that if they weren't so close to one another, the blonde never would have heard it. Before she can ask anything about it, the sergeant simply adds, "I'll explain later." Her voice breaks ever so slightly as she says it so the blonde works quickly to help her friend keep it together. She knows better than anyone that Liv wasn't one to cry in front of others. It was a rarity, one afforded to very few in very specific moments and the middle of Granny's Diner in Storybrooke was definitely not one of those moments.

"How'd you get here anyways?" Emma asks instead when she pulls away once more.

The brunette is incredibly thankful for her friend's change of subject and just shakes her head before gesturing for the seat. Emma takes the hint quickly enough and slides in to make room for the sergeant. "I do have a car." she deadpans as she takes her place next to the blonde. The blonde rolls her eyes playfully before smiling at Regina and Henry across from her. "Which reminds me, I need the number for the closest mechanic, my car broke down at the town line."

"Seriously? Wow, okay. I'll call Michael Tillman and let him know, don't worry about it."

"And I probably need a new phone, too." She frowns as she pulls it out of her pocket, "I can't get a single bar, but the lovely Madame Mayor here had absolutely no trouble with hers. If I didn't know any better I might think there was a spell to keep away outsiders." She laughed and the others at the table did, too, though theirs seemed a little more forced, worried. _Strange_. Obviously she's not funny, never has been, but even a lousy joke like that shouldn't cause such an awkward reaction.

"Yeah," Emma fidgets nervously, "that would explain a lot now, wouldn't it? So, how long are you staying?"

"I don't know," she shrugs, "I only really came to make sure you're okay… but I guess I have to stay until my car is fixed, at least."

"Okay, awesome." Emma smiles but before she can say anything else, Henry cuts in.

"Yeah! I can show you around! There's a lot to see here, believe it or not!" he grins, bursting with excitement until Regina clears her throat, pulling all attention towards her.

"Yes, well," she drawls, "I'll see to it that Mr Tillman fixes your car as quickly as possible." Henry frowns at that so she adds, if only for his sake, "so as not to detain you any longer than necessary. I do believe as sergeant you must be quite needed back in… New York."

That seems to appease Henry, though it doesn't change the fact that he is far from happy at the thought of her leaving. So she simply smiles politely, knowing full well that the brunette had just 'politely' told her to fuck off. She thanks her for her _kindness_ before returning her attention to the blonde, they had a lot of catching up to do.

* * *

_**A/N:** I have to say that it physically pained me to use Henry Swan, it just feels so wrong, but a year in New York without mention of this town or Regina Mills has Benson suspicious and Olivia knows how to tick those buttons. Not sure when the next chapter will be up but be warned that there will be some mention of the Lewis debacle. I'll add warnings as needed, of course, there's a lot of ground to cover for all three ladies so we'll see where this goes. As always reviews are most appreciated!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:** And I'm back with a new chapter! Sorry again for the wait, I'll try and not make you wait quite that long for the next one. Enjoy! And please let me know what you think :)_

_**Warning:** Some PTSD and Lewis in this chapter, which includes a few quotes directly from the show. If you think it may trigger you, please feel free to read just the first segment (Regina/Henry cuteness) and skip the rest. I can give you a summary of what you missed if needed._

* * *

It's nine in the evening when the brunette tucks her son into bed. They both know he's too old for this now, but she's missed her little prince dearly and as long as he doesn't protest, they'll continue with this innocent little part to their routine. He smiles up brightly at her as she smoothes out the creases in the duvet.

After the encounter with the newcomer in the diner, Emma and the Sergeant had gone off to catch up on the seemingly long list of changes that had occurred within the past few weeks apart while a begrudging Henry had been forced to stay behind with his brunette mother. There were still questions the mayor wanted answered, but the moment the blonde spotted Miss Benson, it had become clear to Regina that she would not be getting any more from either woman that night. Henry was more than disappointed to be denied the chance to spend more time with the sergeant, but a few new comic books and a homemade lasagna proved to be enough to appease the growing young boy.

Regina's own curiosity, however, was much more difficult to temper. She could not get their meeting in the diner out of her head. Especially not the way her son had so joyously run to embrace the stranger, and, more shockingly, referred to her as though she were family. Their year apart had never been more discomfiting than it was in that moment, she couldn't help but wonder how many other people had become a part of her son's life whilst she had been denied even the place of a memory in his mind.

She smiles down at her sleepy son now and, almost hesitantly, begins to ask, "Henry, that woman today, in the diner..."

Before she can finish her question, however, he pouts and then whines, "please, please don't, mom. Don't tell me to stay away from her."

"Henry..." she sighs, and again, he interrupts. But she won't scold him, not tonight, and especially not when her son is pleading with her the way he is now.

"Please, mom. She was really, really good to us when we were in New York. She even took us to a game on my birthday." He pauses as he notes the dismay on his mother's face at the mention of his birthday. "I wish you could have been there." He takes her hand in his as he says it, looking all too young and innocent all bundled up in his bed as he looks up at her with wide eyes. "But she was, and, well... she's family."

She closes her eyes for a moment, trying to gather the emotions that always seem to build up when the year apart comes up. It's bound to happen again and again, and while she really, truly wants to hear every detail, there's a part of her that abhors it.

"Henry," she says at last, his name drawn out in a whisper as she uses her free hand to brush through his hair. He needs a haircut, she notes, but it's something that will have to be addressed later. "I won't stop you from seeing her. We both know how horribly it went the last time I forbade you to see someone you care about." She smiles a little to soften the statement, as the memory of a cursed apple turnover and a near death springs to the forefront of both their minds. They simultaneously squeeze one another's hand in a gesture of comfort, understanding, and forgiveness. "I just hate not knowing, I find it unsettling that there are these people in your life that I know so little about. I am sorry if you think I overreacted today. I just..."

"I know." He cuts in as she begins to trail off, "but you can trust her. She's a good person. And I know now that there's more to good and evil than I used to, but she would never let anything happen to me." There's a moment of silence as they stare at one another, Regina absentmindedly combing her fingers through his hair as he closes his eyes, soaking in the feeling. Soon after though, he opens his eyes sleepily and adds, "You'd probably like her, you know, if you gave her a chance. Now that I remember everything, she kind of reminds me of you a little."

She smiles at that, because really, what can she say? So she nods in acquiescence and then, "Okay. If it will make you happy, I'll give her a chance."

"Really?" His voice perks up but the sleepiness is still there so she simply nods with a little smile.

"Now, go to sleep. We'll talk again in the morning." He answers by closing his eyes and squeezing her hand once more before letting go ever so slowly.

She then leans down to give his cheek a little kiss and whispers "goodnight, my little prince."

He mumbles a "goodnight" and an "I love you, mom" which makes her heart swell as it does every time he says those simple little words.

She turns off the lights, leaving his lamp on and as she closes the door, leaving only a crack open, she whispers back an "I love you, too, little prince."

She then quietly makes her way down the stairs and into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She has some investigating to do, and there's no way she'll be able to sleep without getting some answers.

* * *

She's clad in yoga pants and a large t-shirt as she sits on the edge of the bed, drying her freshly showered hair with a towel. It doesn't take long before she ceases her attempt, tossing the towel onto the nearest chair and letting her short wet locks fall on their own accord. She brushes a hand through her hair shortly after, pulling it away from her face as she does so, before allowing her hand to fall onto her lap with a sigh.

It had been a long day, a fact that had somehow managed to escape the sergeant the moment she had laid eyes on her long missed friend. Following lunch she and Emma had dealt with a few important errands, including retrieving her luggage from her car (which the mechanic, Michael, had towed to his shop while they were still in the diner), checking her into Granny's Bed and Breakfast, and setting her up with a new phone. After the more important tasks had been taken care of, the blonde had proceeded to give her a tour of the town. They'd eventually settled for a walk by the water, warm beverages (hot chocolate for Emma, coffee for herself) in hand as they talked.

Although the two of them had spent several hours discussing things the other had missed upon the past few weeks, neither woman ventured too deep. Their friendship seemed to settle into the familiarity it always had; wherein they would talk but say very little. Long pauses and meaningful looks, both at each other and pointedly away had filled the spaces of the words they were not yet prepared to say. Emma knew Olivia's scars were raw, knew from a few simple words what she had been forced to relive, but she didn't push, just as Olivia didn't push when the former bail bonds woman's eyes had darkened at her own slip of Henry's father's name. It was comfortable and it helped them both avoid the full weight of their own lives. They understood each other, and with their reunion still fresh, neither woman felt the need to darken the day with painful realities. They would have time to dig into the details later.

Despite her own reluctance to give complete answers, she couldn't help the curiosity that continued to gnaw at her mind. She had so many questions, it was in her nature, after all, being an agent of law enforcement. She had asked some of them, had even alluded to the peculiar protectiveness the mayor seemed to exhibit over Henry. The blonde had simply shrugged it off with a noncommittal answer. She had waived it off herself at first, but when the subject came up again, Emma had become awkward. _"He called her mom."_ she had mentioned it casually after a long silence, to which Emma had mumbled out a vague _"'Cause she is."_ No further explanation was given, just that simple statement. It certainly didn't make sense, especially since neither she nor Henry had ever mentioned the brunette in all the time they had known each other. Another drawn out silence followed the blonde's statement, one that soon became discomfiting for both women and eventually led to a decision for them to simply call it a night.

If she had her laptop with her tonight, she might have spent a few hours searching for some more answers. Although, truthfully, she knows somehow that she wouldn't find anything even if she did. She and Emma had walked by the town's library earlier that evening, so perhaps she would spend some time there tomorrow. She knows Emma would likely explain eventually, but more than that, she knows that her mind would not be able to rest until she got some of those answers. Dark cold eyes turning soft at a few words from a young boy have been lingering in her mind since the diner. A stiffening posture and tall defensive walls following those eyes. She can't quite put her finger on it yet, but she's certain that there is something more to all of this, to _her_.

She lets out another deep sigh as she lays back, just missing the pillow at the head of the bed, opting instead to rest her head on her hands. She stares up at the ceiling recalling the events of the day. The fact that it isn't the incident with her car or the reunion with her friend, but rather an intriguing brunette that has become the most important part of her day is something that bothers her more than she'd like to admit. She continues to stare into nothing, events of the day looping around in her brain, hoping that if she manages to fall asleep tonight, she won't remember her dreams come morning.

As time passes, and how long is something she doesn't even want to know, her eyes begin to flutter, the restlessness beginning to catch up to her. That's when thoughts of her day and a mysterious brunette morph into the things she wants nothing more than to forget. _"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Olivia." _His voice mocks her as her eyes begin to feel too heavy to keep open any longer, _"All my girls go through it."_

_I'm not yours_, she thinks, fighting the tears begging for escape.

_"It's very common, you know. PTSD I mean that's... that's real."_ The funny thing is, the memories, the dreams, aren't even the worst part of her nights. It's the after that tortures her most, when she wakes with the knowledge that even after death, the bastard continues to win.

_"You're in your bed, at night..."_ She's become accustomed to hearing his voice at night, even during the day when it's a particularly rough one, but it doesn't stop her from fighting him. _Not in my bed tonight_, she retorts within her mind, and if she weren't so tired, she would smirk at that. He's dead, she knows, the memory far too vivid to ever forget. And yet, she finds herself arguing with him, giving as good as she gets. It's incredibly draining on her system, but the moment she stops fighting him, that's when she'll know she's truly lost. So she takes deep breaths to calm her heart as he continues to goad her, _"wake up in a cold sweat, thinking I'm in the room with a gun to your head."_

"Not tonight," she tells him, "not ever." Or maybe she's just telling herself.

She closes her eyes at last, a few stubborn tears squeezing their way past her closed lids as she wills sleep to consume her, hoping that for once, it might leave her monster behind. It isn't long before its made clear that that won't be the case tonight, as she hears his sickly sweet voice once more.

_"Sweet dreams, Olivia."_

* * *

"When I beat Mister Lewis, fracturing his skull, his orbital socket, shattering his kneecap, breaking multiple ribs, and causing permanent damage, he was handcuffed." To the untrained eye the sergeant seems nothing but a stoic presence as she speaks. Her voice is leveled, professional, her stance equally so. "He and I were alone, he offered no resistance and I was not in danger." Regina herself had been fooled at first, or perhaps she had simply been blinded by her jealousy over the reverence with which her son looks up to the woman and the fact that she had been with him in the year she was not. Upon closer inspection, however, the slight waver becomes apparent, the extensive effort she exerts to keep herself standing upright almost painful to observe. "The assault was nothing less than police brutality and excessive force. I apologize for the inhumanity of my actions and for my perjury." And her eyes, well, there is a much deeper, darker story being told through those dark orbs. She seems sincere in her apology, somehow, and yet not for the brutality itself. It's intriguing and beautiful in ways that the mayor simply cannot describe, even to herself.

This is the fifth time she watches the video tonight, discounting the many, many more times she had heard the words in her sleep. The first time she watched it, she had felt empowered, certain that her first instincts about the woman were correct. Olivia Benson was a cop who had not only perjured herself, but also crippled a man in a horrific, inhumane fashion. It had made her feel victorious. The video was the very first thing to appear in her search after putting Henry to bed, and by the time the sergeant's statement was over, her tea had been consumed. She had opted then to go to bed, satisfied by her findings. She would expose the woman for her wretched actions, stripping her from the obviously undeserved status of 'hero' and then she would be out of their lives for good. She had promised Henry to give the woman a chance, but surly he would understand once the truth surfaced, he was, after all, quite adamant about being told nothing but the truth. She would simply have to be careful and minimize the damage it might cause to her son. At least, that was the plan when she slipped under the sheets shortly afterward. Her dreams, however, had an entirely different plan in store.

"I make this statement of my own volition, under no duress, under no coercion, and under no expectation that there be a quid pro quo for Mr. Lewis." Somehow that feels like a lie now. Or maybe she had just watched it so many times that she was trying to justify her actions by fabricating nuances.

She lets out a long sigh and finally forces herself to close the window that houses the sergeant's video statement. Miss Benson's words had infiltrated her dreams that night, varying images of both the sergeant and herself right along with them. The speech had affected her more than she could have possibly imagined, somehow pulling her back to moments in the Enchanted Forest; some from her marriage and others from her reign as the feared Evil Queen. That's what had led her to where she is now, sitting at her desk in her home office at half past four in the morning.

She opens a new window and searches the woman's name once more. The video is again the very first result but this time she ignores it, deciding instead to check some of the various news articles. The first few are accounts of the statement in regards to perjury, of course, there's little a reporter likes more than a story about the dirt within the government and its law enforcement. There are also a few regarding the 'shocking yet unsurprising' verdict given by the grand jury in account of the sergeant's conduct and the death of the same man over whom she had perjured herself. Many of the articles had attempted to extrapolate some form of conspiracy out of the ruling, despite the fact that it had been made by a group of laypeople. And then she stumbles across one with a photo of the sergeant hugging a young girl. This one, she finds, is actually credible. This one is factual and detailed in the way that all professional journalism is meant to be, though, from even her own manipulations of that system, she knows is not the case. This story includes a brief interview with the young girl who...

The dark brunette pauses, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She opens her eyes, wanting the written words to be different, but of course, they remain the same. As she reads on, she discovers that the young girl had been at the hands of Mr. Lewis at the time the statement was taped, had been both a witness and a victim to some rather heinous crimes. The girl speaks highly of the sergeant and suddenly she can understand why her son might look up to the woman. The date on the article, however, places the event at a time when Henry and Emma had already been back in Storybrooke. It's a relief, in that he can't possibly know the details of this particular incident, her son had been through enough trauma in his young life, he didn't need this, too. Though, it does raise the question as to what he may have witnessed or heard in his time in New York. She shakes the thought, knowing she can't possibly have the answer to that at the moment and scrolls down, finding a list of related articles. With the expectation that they be as credible as the one she had just read, she clicks one of the links.

She stares disbelievingly when the new page opens to display a rather shocking photograph of the sergeant under the headline "Detective Benson Beats the Beast." She's bloody and bruised, her fingers spread apart, held in front of her chest in a both disgusted and stunned fashion. Her hair is ragged, though longer than it was in the diner, she notes. There's a younger cop beside her, seemingly attempting to console her as he wraps a blanket over her shoulders. She seems almost oblivious to her surroundings, yet completely aware. It makes so little sense, but all in all she feels like she's looking at a still from a horror film.

The next few hours are spent sifting through articles about Olivia Benson. She spends so much time taking in the disturbing details of her encounter with Mr. Lewis that she's completely taken aback when she comes across a much older story, one that is actually on a happier note, describing a heroic act by the very same woman. As she goes further back in time, she finds more and more stories like it, though there continues to be a fair amount of the more tragic cases with which she had been involved.

Eventually she comes across a few scanned newspaper clippings in an archive, among them are two brief snippets of a very young Olivia Benson. One of them praises her for her accomplishments in the academics, the other is some sort of school paper, naming her Homecoming Queen. She looks quite sweet in both pictures and as she looks upon them, Regina doesn't even realize the small smile that has found its way to her lips.

She then opens a new window, types the sergeant's name into a new search, and reopens the video statement. As it plays, the words now quite familiar, she splits the screen so that she can see both. Her eyes flit from the young face to the mature one, noting the incredible differences. She's still quite beautiful, possibly even more so now, if her history is to be taken into account. It's her eyes, though, that have changed the most. The newspaper clippings are old and colourless, but she can still see it, the lightness those eyes held back then, it's absent in the eyes of the woman in the video. The queen looks breathtakingly happy while the sergeant looks painfully sad.

She knows that in this world, Homecoming Queen is a dream for many adolescent girls, but is otherwise a frivolous title. Nevertheless, she can't stop herself from thinking about the trauma the woman, so young and innocent in this old picture, had been forced to endure in her adult life. So when the thought comes to the forefront of her mind, she can't shake it away, can't avoid the affect it has on her. She thinks of Olivia Benson, a strong woman tarnished by monsters, and comes to the conclusion that the sergeant, not unlike herself, is a fallen queen.

She's so completely consumed by the discoveries of the late night and early morning that she doesn't even notice her own reaction. It's only when the sun peaks through the curtains and she reaches up to cover her eyes, that her reality becomes known to her, her fingers sweeping across a bit of moisture on their journey to shelter her eyes from the light. It's with the simple motion and the presence of the sun that she realizes she's crying.

* * *

_"So... no dreams about me at all, huh?"_

Her eyes spring open and she stays still for a moment, listening for any indication of a second party before reaching out for the night table, opening the drawer and pulling out her gun. She's panting as she sits up in bed, hands outstretched as she aims her gun, just in case. She looks around the room, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. She sees no movement, hears nothing but her own heaving breath but continues her search for a few minutes more regardless. All she finds is her duvet missing from the bed, having been kicked off sometime in her sleep, the towel still slung over the chair in the corner, and her luggage on the couch by the wall.

That's when that despicable voice returns to mock her, _"wake up in a cold sweat... I'm in the room..."_ and that's when she knows for certain it's just her mind playing tricks on her. She doesn't take the time to evaluate her own sanity, can't allow him to have that much control over her, so she sets the gun back down on the night table.

She pushes her sweat slicked hair out of her view as she takes long, deep breaths to calm herself. _Let go, _she tells herself, _you need to move on, he's dead. You survived. Let go._ She repeats the mantra in her mind, over and over. He's dead, she's not. It should be simple. It's not.

She's not entirely sure when it happened, or how, but at some point her attempts to calm herself had transformed into intense body-wracking sobs. She's seated on the bed, knees drawn to her chest, head in hands as the tears pour. This was definitely not the plan, she was not supposed to give in, not again. She had managed to avoid this for the past week, had instead focused on anger and strength and pushing the pain the hell away from her. She hates to feel like this, hates the weakness, even when she's in a dark room where no one could possibly see her breaking down.

When at last the crying stops, she lifts her head, wiping her bleary eyes as best she can before turning to check the time. It's nearly four in the morning. "Well, at least it's morning." she laughs to herself, hating the mixture of self-pity and self-loathing in her own voice.

She stretches her legs and looks up to the ceiling briefly, a silent wish for all of this to end, before she lifts herself off the bed and heads over to the bathroom. Once there, she turns on the light and walks over to the sink, immediately disgusted by the figure staring back at her through the mirror. Her hair is a scraggly mess, wet from either sweat or her shower earlier in the night, or maybe a combination of the two. Her eyes are red and puffy and her cheeks are decorated in various ugly tear stains. She turns the tap, cold water only, makes a cup with her hands under the faucet and then proceeds to lift the gathered water to her face. She splashes her face once, twice, and then scrubs. She scrubs her cheeks and her eyes and under her chin. When she finally pulls her hands away from her face it's with a little more force than necessary, resulting in her splashing the mirror as her hands just miss smashing into it. She lets out a frustrated huff before wetting one of her hands one last time and running it through her hair. She pulls it back, ready to tie it in a ponytail before it falls right through her fingers, reminding her that it's too short for that now. She shakes her head, dries her hands and face, turns off the light, and exits the bathroom.

Knowing she won't be getting any more sleep tonight, she changes into black jeans and a dark blue long sleeved shirt. She then grabs her coat, stuffs her room key into her pocket and holsters her gun on her hip, just in case. She quickly puts on her shoes and walks out the door. She has nowhere particular in mind, but finds herself headed toward the docks.

It's still dark out, there doesn't seem to be anyone else out, at least that she can see. She's on high alert, as always, but somehow the strange little town feels less threatening than home. She knows small towns are known for feeling safe, knows how dangerous it is for people to get comfortable, to believe they're safe. She also knows how ridiculous it is to live in fear. At that thought, her hand finds its way up to her pendant, willing it to empower her as it has many times before.

Finally, she finds herself on the boardwalk by the water's edge, her legs moving of their own accord. She walks past the main area, needing to be in a somewhat more secluded spot. She makes her way past the ships and further down the path, the slight wind tickling her skin and drying her hair as she moves.

After some time she finds herself seated on a bench with a full view of the water. There are a few trees around her, and she knows that were the sun up, the area would be nicely shaded. She watches the waves, the light breeze still caressing her skin, and allows the atmosphere to sooth her. It's certainly a better way to spend her sleepless hours than sitting in her apartment back in the city, case files scattered across the table in order to busy her hands and make use of the time.

She hides her hands in her pockets, realizing now that she probably should have brought gloves but unwilling to return to her room just yet. One hand meets the room key, the cold metal doing nothing to help her predicament, but the other meets her new iphone wrapped in headphones. She pulls it out, turns it on, finding that the battery is still half full. She places the ear buds in both ears and presses play.

She remains on that bench for the next few hours, watching the waves, later accompanied by the sunrise as she sorts through her inner turmoil. She'll get past all of this, it's what she does, after all - survive.

* * *

_**A/N:** Okay so for some reason I had it in my head that the newspaper clipping Olivia's biological father had of her was of her as homecoming queen or something similar. After writing a chunk about that, I decided to double check… It was Scholar of the Month (so I included that too). We know so little about her childhood that I'm willing to say this is now canon for the story. She's smart and pretty, it's believable enough. Just go with it._

_Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know it was pretty heavy, but it was necessary. Please consider leaving a review, they make my day :)_


	4. Chapter 4

She sighs into her mug, the steam brushing against her face as she breathes in the caffeine. She feels trapped, as though in a trance. The events of the night continue to tread through her, visions and memories and questions she can't seem to shake. She had spent hours by the water this morning, and if not for her phone dying, she might still be there now.

A flash of red catches in the corner of her eye as a young waitress sets a plate down before her. Olivia sets her mug down, cradling its warmth as her brow furrows.

"I didn't order this."

"Oh, I know," the waitress says as she flashes her a smile, her bright red lipstick complimenting the whiteness of her teeth as brilliantly as the small apron over her short, red skirt. "You just look like you could use a treat after the night you had."

"How-"

"Thin walls." The waitress then leans against the counter, lowering her voice, "and I tried to get your attention when I passed you on my jog this morning, but you seemed to be in another world, lost in thought or something."

The sympathy in the waitress' eyes is a little unnerving, but Olivia simply nods, a soft "oh" and a mumbled "sorry" falling from her lips.

"It's on the house," the waitress says, waggling her eyebrows as she pushes the plate forward, her long red nails adding a musical tap against the porcelain as she withdraws her hand.

Olivia looks down at the offered slice of apple pie and then back up to the waitress. "Thank you," she says, forcing her lips into a small smile as she accepts the treat.

"No problem." The waitress perks up, and Olivia can't help but think that the young woman looks like a puppy being offered a treat. "Any friend of Emma's is a friend of mine - _oh god_, that's so corny. I'm Ruby, by the way."

"Olivia." She responds in kind, a slight twinkle in her dark eyes. "It's nice to meet you, Ruby."

A wolfish grin overtakes Ruby's face as she leans in a little closer.

"So," Ruby whispers conspiratorially, "I bet you could tell me some embarrassing stories about Emma."

"I'm sure I could, Ruby." Olivia chuckles, shaking her head. "But I doubt Emma would be okay with that."

Ruby pulls away slightly, sighing exaggeratedly. "Fine." She frowns for all but a moment before she perks up again, and Olivia finds herself imagining a light bulb brightening above Ruby's head. "Tell me about New York, then!"

"What do you want to know?" Olivia asks before taking a bite of apple pie. Somehow, the pie is even more delicious than it looks and Olivia closes her eyes involuntarily, savoring its flavor. "This is amazing," she hums as her eyes flutter open.

Ruby squeals excitedly in response, and Olivia can't remember the last time she's been around someone who seemed as genuinely happy as Ruby does. "Well, I want to know everything! Tell me about the Statue of Liberty and Times Square and the _shopping_ and -"

"Ruby!" Granny's robust voice echoes through the diner.

Ruby huffs, all excitement fading as she turns her gaze toward Granny.

"What?" Ruby asks sourly.

"Quit your yammering and come help me in the back."

"Coming!" Ruby calls back, but the moment Granny disappears into the other room, she rolls her eyes and dramatically faceplants into the counter between herself and Olivia. Luckily, her red-streaked black hair just misses the food and Olivia finds herself laughing. The laughter feels foreign but _good_ and Olivia starts to think that maybe Storybrooke isn't as awful as the day before had made it seem.

"Can you take me with you," Ruby groans, "when you go back to New York?"

"If Granny lets you, sure."

"I'm an adult," Ruby whines, "I don't need her permission."

As if on cue, Granny shouts, "_Ruby!_"

"I'm coming!" Ruby says, dragging herself up off the counter. She sighs as she fixes her hair and straightens her small apron. Olivia remains silent, taking another taste of apple pie in a feigned attempt at hiding her amusement. "Okay, fine," Ruby mumbles, "maybe I do need her permission." Ruby stares at Olivia enjoying her breakfast and jumps a little, grinning. "You could always kidnap me?"

"I'm not sure Granny is the type of person I want to mess with."

Ruby sets a hand on her hip and shakes her head, dejected.

"So much for being rescued by a badass New York Sergeant."

"Sorry." Olivia shrugs, sniggering.

Another dramatic sigh is Ruby's only response before she ambles off to help her grandmother.

Olivia glances around the diner before returning her attention to her breakfast. There are very few people in the diner this morning, but unlike the day before, the patrons seem to be keeping to themselves. She only manages a couple bites of pie and sips of lukewarm coffee before the bell above the entrance sounds. When she turns to look, Olivia finds a bright-eyed Henry at the door, followed closely by Storybrooke's perplexing mayor. Regina Mills. The woman who is somehow also Henry's mother. Before she can ponder the mystery any further, Henry waves at her, practically jumping in his excitement. Olivia returns the gesture with a soft smile and a wave. She nods politely toward Regina when she catches the woman staring. Regina stares blankly for a moment before pointedly shifting her gaze. Henry rises on the tips of his toes to tell Regina something, and Olivia takes it as her cue to turn away. Her coffee mug is nearly empty now, but Olivia raises it for a sip regardless. She grimaces at the bitterness of the sludgy remnants and sets her mug down with a sigh.

"Good morning, Aunt Liv!" Olivia looks up to find Henry beaming, backpack falling from his shoulder.

"Morning, Henry."

Henry hugs her briefly before dropping his bag to the ground with a thud and seating himself on the stool next to her.

"How did you like your first night in Storybrooke?"

"It's been... interesting."

"Yeah, well, it's Storybrooke." Henry raises a hand to the side of his mouth, as if to tell a secret, but fails to lower his voice when he adds, "You haven't seen anything yet. Trust me."

"I guess I'll need the Little Prince to show me around, then," Olivia says as she ruffles his hair, causing Henry to squint and grumble in pseudo annoyance. "As you can imagine, Emma's not the greatest tour gu-" Henry's wide, beaming smirk and narrowed eyes catch her off guard. Olivia tilts her head slightly, unable to stop her own smile from forming. "What?" she asks, bemused.

"You just called me 'Little Prince.'"

"Yeah, I did. It's not the first time... do you not like it anymore?" Olivia frowns, scanning him briefly before she nods. "You have gotten a bit taller since I last saw you. Maybe I should start calling you 'Tall Prince.'"

"No, it's not that - and _please_ do _not _call me 'Tall Prince.' That's just _weird_." Olivia chuckles at the way his nose scrunches in disgust at the nickname. "It's just that," Henry continues to explain with a dramatic roll of his hazel eyes, "I guess it just hit me now. My mom calls me that, too."

"Really? I've never heard Emma-"

"No, my other mom."

"Oh."

Before either of them can comment any further, Ruby reappears with a toothy grin, setting down a large plate of waffles covered in whipped cream, strawberries, chocolate sauce, and maple syrup.

"Here you go, Henry!" Ruby says cheerfully. "Someone's getting spoiled today."

Olivia's eyes widen slightly but Henry's expression is absolutely comical. Olivia has never before seen such a perfect personification of a cartoon. If he were such a character, his eyes would be popping out of his skull and he would be several feet in the air from his excitement.

It takes the appearance of an equally sugary cup of hot cocoa with cinnamon for Henry to remember he's not alone.

"Thanks, Ruby!" he says before eagerly sipping his favourite drink.

Ruby tosses a wink in Henry's direction before she retrieves a pot of coffee and refills Olivia's mug. Just as Olivia offers her thanks, Henry slams his mug on the counter, drawing both women's attention.

"Oh, right!" Henry mumbles as he turns awkwardly in his chair.

Through the corner of her eye, Olivia can see the mayor lift a napkin to her lips, prompting Henry to reach behind him, grab a napkin off the counter and swipe the chocolate off his mouth. Regina nods in approval, stoic as ever as she taps the watch on her wrist.

"Speaking of your - of Regina, you sure she's okay with you sitting here with me?"

"Yup!" Henry swirls in his seat to face his beloved treat once more, his eyes darting between his breakfast and Olivia. "I asked."

Olivia glances past Henry to find Regina stirring her drink far too intently. The smirk that graces Olivia's face as she watches the woman feign innocence is involuntary, but satisfying. Regina lifts the spoon from the drink and clinks it against the edge of the cup. It's as she raises the spoon to her lips that she attempts to sneak a peek at her son. Regina startles slightly when Olivia catches her in the act, but it's Olivia who turns away, smirk still firmly in place, when the spoon finally meets the mayor's lips.

"Interesting," Ruby murmurs, shaking her head when Olivia looks at her inquisitively. "I'll leave you two to your breakfast, Granny's gonna have my head if I stand here any longer."

Henry grunts out a response through a large mouthful, raising a hand to wave sheepishly as Ruby starts to leave.

"See you later, Henry." Ruby giggles at his antics, but turns serious as she raises an accusing finger toward Olivia. "And you, don't think I'll forget our little chat. I still want details."

"Meet me tonight, if you like."

Ruby squeals in agreement and returns to her work with a little bounce in her step. Olivia may not know Ruby well, but she looks forward to a night of casual chatter. The bubbly waitress is exactly the distraction she needs from the thoughts that creep into the dark.

"So," Olivia pokes Henry's shoulder gently, "how are you liking school here?"

"It's good." Henry sighs, setting down his fork and swallowing his food. He rests his cheek in his palm, and looks up at her wistfully. "I miss my friends back in New York, though."

"I know it must be hard, starting over." Olivia smiles sadly, spreading her fingers over his shoulder, "but I hope you're still trying to make some new ones."

"I am. Well, old ones, I guess." Henry slumps forward, eyeing the waffles before him.

"Write any new stories lately?" She prods, squeezing his shoulder ever so gently. "I'm just dying for some new material from my favourite author."

As if with a flick of a switch, Henry straightens in his seat, beaming once more.

"I do! I have this one you'll really like, it's about a warrior fairy."

"A warrior fairy?"

"Well, it's more like... She's a former fairy turned warrior. I don't want to spoil it, but she's kind of based on you."

"Me, a fairy?"

"Uh huh, it'll make more sense when you read it. Here, just let me..."

Next thing she knows, Henry is leaning down awkwardly in his chair, a single hand gripping the counter to keep from falling. He fumbles with the zipper of his backpack and pulls out a sleek notebook with a victorious cheer before pulling himself back up. He sets the notebook between them on the counter and flips through the pages.

"There it is," he says as he begins to tear the pages from the book. Olivia cringes as he does so, but his fingers work expertly to remove the papers without causing any damage. "It's not really done yet, and I haven't decided on a title, but maybe you could make some notes like you usually do?"

"Sure," she says as he hands her the pages. "I'll get it back to you as soon as I've finished. Now eat your breakfast, I'm guessing by Regina's impatient looks that you have to run off to school soon."

"I don't think she expected you to notice her watching us."

"Well, someone should tell the mayor that subtlety is not her strong suit."

Henry laughs and closes his notebook, all hints of his earlier dismay gone as he digs into his meal once more.

A few minutes pass, and Henry manages to scarf down all his waffles and finish off his hot cocoa. Once he's finished, Henry retrieves a napkin to wipe his mouth and fingers.

"I have to go now," he says as he jumps off his seat and repacks his notebook in his bag.

"Have a good day at school, Henry."

"I will," he says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, "if it means I can see you later, Aunt Liv."

"I'll be here for at least a week, we can spend as much time together as you like," she promises as she pulls him into a hug. "As long as Emma gives the okay - or Regina, I guess."

Henry laughs as they part.

"Oh! I almost forgot. I talked to my mom - Regina - last night." He shrugs, his head bowed as he shuffles his feet nervously. "She said I could invite you over for dinner tonight. So, will you come?"

"Regina agreed to that?" Olivia is more than a little surprised at the invitation, but Henry nods his affirmation.

"I told her about you, that you're family. She promised me she'd give you a chance."

After a long pause, Henry looks up, biting his lip. Olivia watches him silently. In the time that she's known him, Henry has never deliberately lied to her, but she knows how manipulative he can be. Olivia has witnessed him tricking Emma into getting what he wants several times, all in the name of his secret operations.

"I promise she's not as cold as she seems, she's just... really protective? Please, say you'll come?"

"Okay."

"Really?"

Olivia nods, though her suspicions remain, she understands why Emma so often succumbs to his whims. Henry is a hard kid to say no to.

"Awesome! I'll see you tonight. Bye, Aunt Liv!"

"Bye, Henry."

With a thin smile upon her lips, Olivia watches as he makes his way over to Regina, presumably to say goodbye. Although dinner is a perfect opportunity to find answers to the myriad of questions churning through her mind, she fears spending any additional time with the aloof mayor could only end badly.

Olivia takes a couple sips of her coffee as she waits for Henry to exit the diner. When at last he does, Olivia rises from her seat, leaving behind enough cash to cover both the coffee and the pie. While Ruby may have offered the treat free of charge, her years on the force have trained her not to accept such gifts.

With her head held high and a thumb curled comfortably in a belt loop on her jeans, Olivia strides over to Regina's table. She clears her throat to get the other woman's attention, though it's clear to Olivia that Regina is fully aware of her presence.

"Well," Regina mocks, "if it isn't New York's Finest."

"Regina."

At the use of her name, a strange expression flits across Regina's features, but with deft fingers, Regina recovers, sweeping a stray strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

Olivia doesn't await invitation, taking the seat opposite Regina.

"I had an interesting conversation with Henry."

"Oh?"

Rather than continue, Olivia rests her elbows on the table, refusing to reveal anymore until Regina drops the act, if only enough to face her.

As anticipated, it works.

"Is there a reason for this frivolous news," Regina asks, setting down her fork and knife, giving Olivia her full attention, "or have you simply come over here to ruin my appetite?"

"Surprise visits are a regular part of my job, Regina," Olivia says, matching Regina's bored tone, "if you'd prefer that, then I can just leave now."

"Surprise visits? If this is a threat, sergeant, then I'll have you know -"

"I'm not here to threaten you, Regina," - and there's that peculiar expression once more, as though the sound of her own name is a foreign concept. "Henry invited me to dinner tonight at your place. I just wanted to check that he really asked you first."

"Are you calling my son a liar?" Regina drawls, raising an accusing eyebrow.

"Of course not," Olivia defends, a small smirk to her lips. "I just know Henry's prone to scheming."

"If he told you that he asked me," Regina says, slowly lifting her mug to take a sip, "then he did." And though the mayor speaks smoothly, there's a slight twitch to her brow as she drinks that tells Olivia she isn't being entirely truthful.

"I can come up with an excuse to cancel, if you want me to."

"Don't be ridiculous," Regina dismisses, setting down her mug and rolling her eyes. "It's just dinner. I'm sure the two of us can manage to be civil for an hour or two. Henry is expecting you to be there. And so you will."

"Okay." Olivia smiles, pressing her fingers against the table top as she rises from her seat. "Is there anything I should bring?"

"No, dear." Regina husks, her eyes trailing Olivia from head to toe. "Just yourself will do."

For a moment, Olivia simply stares at the other woman. There's something in her gaze that makes it difficult to speak, something in her voice that perplexes Olivia beyond comprehension. Eventually, she manages to nod in response, her smile falling into a straight line.

"Are there any allergies I should be aware of?" Regina asks, her eyes locking on Olivia's.

Olivia shakes her head slightly before dropping a soft "no."

"Good. Six o'clock sharp. Don't be late."

"Right." Olivia clears her throat and nods once more. "See you then."

Regina smirks as she lifts a forkful of pancake. Olivia moves to leave, but only manages a few steps before she's stopped midstride. At the sound of her name, Olivia spins to face Regina once more.

"And Miss Benson."

"Sergeant." Olivia corrects automatically.

Regina lifts her head as if unimpressed, her nonchalance betrayed only by the way her eyes sparkle with mischief.

"Dress appropriately."

"Would you expect any differently?" Olivia inquires, brow furrowed at the strange remark.

"One never knows." Regina sighs, waving her hand dismissively before returning her attention to her breakfast.

* * *

_**A/N:** Words cannot express how sorry I am that it took me so long to update this story. I've received some incredible reviews, and I appreciate all the support, but between writer's block and real life, writing has been quite difficult. Rest assured that I have every intention of finishing this story, I haven't given up. I'm not sure when the next update will be, as I have some other stories I'd like to finish, but there will definitely be more. Thank you again for all the lovely comments, I hope you'll stick around as the story continues :)_


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